


anniversary

by marzipan (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Jealous Sherlock, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 03:51:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15877956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/marzipan
Summary: prompt: 'take off your shirt' / "that feeling is called jealousy"





	anniversary

Sherlock crosses his arms and looks pointedly down his nose at the table.  
  
“I don’t like it,” he says opaquely.  
  
“What?” Greg scans the menu in hand before glancing up at Sherlock. “French? But you were the one who made the reservations. Quite insistent about it too. About everything. The restaurant, the date, the time. Even my tie.”  
  
Sherlock glares at the tie like it’s personally offended him. It’s a beautiful deep navy, so dark the whimsical black print is only visible at an angle, or very much up close.  
  
“Take it off.”  
  
Greg stares. “Are you serious?”  
  
“You look better without a tie, anyway, with the collar open. I don’t know what I was thinking.”  
  
He’s still boring holes into the silk tie with the force of his glare, and Greg starts to feel self-conscious about it. He runs his hand along the thing but makes no move to remove it - they were sitting in the center of a fancy restaurant for chrissake - and Sherlock all but growls.  
  
“Alright, Sherlock, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” he says through gritted teeth. Greg levels him a look that he pretends to ignore, but at the touch of Greg’s hand over his, Sherlock all but deflates.

“I obviously miscalculated.”

“Hm?”

“The Maridson case, exactly one year ago. It was when you told me - you know.”

Greg tries to think back. An odd poisoning - a suicide made to look like a murder in an attempt to frame her cheating husband. Something about it, something the man had said, set Sherlock off and Greg found him pacing restlessly in the car lot afterward, .He;d practically ambushed Greg, demanding work. Greg asked him to come with him to dinner instead, thinking a beer under his watchful eye would be better than crawling back to the drugs. He knew what a man on the verge of relapse looked like, and Sherlock then had still wanted to fight it.

Sherlock went, surprisingly agreeable. And now that Greg thinks about it, that might have been what set off the string of not-dates that eventually grew to be something more intimate.

Oh.

“I asked - what people normally do.  _Ordinary_ people. And why. Anniversaries are supposed to be happy, and sharing them via some sort of celebrating - fine dining and wine, a little propriety to elevate the occasion and bring it out of the mundane. It’s supposed to make you closer. Happy. Obviously my sources were wildly off mark. I won’t be trying it again,” he mutters, a hundred words a minute. 

Greg now blinks at him in confusion. 

“Hey. You don’t have to do what you don’t want - “ the words are stuck as another thought arises. “Are you unhappy I um, forgot? Technically I didn’t know-”

Sherlock looks absolutely mortified, and gone is the rigid, imposing posture as he slides down his seat several inches.

“It’s an absolute farce,” he says gloomily. “Every woman within a kilometer radius has been eyeing you look a prime steak cut and that hostess has been circling like a shark in bloody waters ever since we set foot. She  _knows_  you’re here with me, and it’s clear from the reservation even if she is  _blind_ , but that didn’t stop her running her hand up your arm and practically manhandling you into your seat. Did you see how many times she leaned over? As if you can’t read a wine list yourself.”

Sherlock takes a deep breath, punctuating it with a surly pout. “ _Obviously_  the entire concept of an anniversary is a complete bust. What is the  _point_  if no one will acknowledge that  _you_ are here with  _me_? 

“Greg can’t help but laugh, then clamps a hand over his mouth as his shoulders shake for a moment.

“Oh Sherlock,” he says, voice impossibly fond even in jest. “I think that feeling’s called jealousy.”

Sherlock ignores the comment, glaring at Greg’s naked ring finger. “Did this still happen when you were married? Did people still throw themselves undeterred at you? I need to know what I’m getting into.”

Greg covers his face and ends up coughing in an attempt to stifle his laughter. 

“ _What?”_ Sherlock asks, annoyed. 

Greg reaches over and places his hand on the back of Sherlock’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss.


End file.
